#sub!dean

He told himself he wouldn’t do this. Told himself a thousand times. But there’s only so many bottles you can drain, only so many half-assed apologies you can rewrite in your head before grief grabs you by the collar and says go.

So now he’s here. Soaked. Cold. And so fucking sorry he doesn’t know where to put it all.

His boots leave prints on the concrete. He stares at your door like it might swallow him.

And then he knocks. Not hard. Not loud. But heavy—like the kind of knock that comes with a name in its mouth.

He hears the shuffling. The soft footfalls. The pause behind the door.

When it opens, you’re bathed in that warm, still light. Bare legs. Oversized shirt. Hair twisted up haphazardly, ringlets sticking out like soft rebellion. And your face—god, your face—is unreadable.

Not bitter. Not hurt. Just… done.

Dean feels his ribs splinter.

You sigh. Loud. Tired. Like this is the last fucking thing you wanted tonight.

“I told you not to come back.”

He swallows. His voice scrapes its way out like it’s been hiding too long in his throat.

“I miss Cas.”

It’s not an answer. It’s not even a real sentence. But it’s all he’s got.

You don’t flinch. You just look up at the rain like it might wash the ache off your bones. Then you shake your head—once, sharp—and step aside.

“Take your boots off. Don’t drag all that shit through my hallway.”

And just like that, he’s inside.

But he’s never felt farther away from you.

The door shuts behind him with a soft click. Final. Clean. Like you’ve done this before—closed him out. Closed him off.

Dean stands just inside the threshold, shoulders dripping, breath fogging faintly in the warm air. The apartment smells like lemon and sandalwood. Like soap. Like you’ve been scrubbing.

He bends to untie his boots. Rainwater pools at his feet, and he watches it soak into your welcome mat. That used to say “home,” once. Now it just says “hello.”

He toes the boots off and sets them neatly beside the door, even though it’s pointless—there’s already a mess behind him.

He straightens up. And then he sees it. The hallway.

Different.

The paint—olive green. The exact shade you used to point out in every damn swatch book. The one he always said you could do “later.” The one he never got around to.

His gut twists. It looks good. It looks finished.

But all he can think is:

She waited until I was gone to make it feel like hers.

There’s no coat rack anymore. No photos on the wall—none of the two of you at that cabin last winter, none of that blurry one Sam took of you both laughing on the bunker steps. Gone. All of it.

It feels like he’s been erased.

You don’t wait for him. You’ve already turned your back and padded softly down the hallway, leaving a faint trail of heat in your wake.

Dean follows. Silent. Drenched. Swallowing hard against the ache rising in his chest like bile.

The living room is next. It hits him like a punch.

The couch has been moved. The coffee table’s different. Lighter wood. Modern. The books on it are new, the throw blanket across the back of the armchair isn’t the navy one he used to steal during movie nights—it’s pale. Cream-coloured. Fragile-looking.

There’s a candle burning on the windowsill. The whole place is calm. Curated. Cleansed.

It’s like she burned sage and swept out my ghost.

You drop onto the couch like this is just another Thursday night.

He stands there, dripping on the hardwood, watching you tuck your legs up beneath you like you used to do when you were wrapped in his flannel. You’re not wearing his flannel now.

“You gonna stand there all night?” You don’t look at him when you say it.

Dean swallows. His tongue feels too big in his mouth. His throat burns.

“Place looks different.”

Still no eye contact.

“It should. I live here now.”

And that’s the moment.

That’s the moment something inside him starts to die.

Because you’re not being cruel. You’re not trying to wound him. You’re just telling the truth. And it hurts so much more than if you’d screamed.

You don’t look at him when you speak again. You just rise from the couch, padding barefoot toward the kitchen like this is just another moment in a life where he doesn’t matter anymore.

“You want tea or something?”

You say it like it’s a reflex. Like it’s muscle memory. Dean’s jaw tightens.

“Yeah. Uh. Sure.”

His voice sounds foreign in this room. Like it echoes wrong. Like the air doesn’t know him anymore.

You disappear behind the half-wall, and he stares at the space you left behind like a fucking idiot. The throw pillows don’t match anymore. The lamp’s been moved. The blanket’s cream instead of navy. The silence is clinical. Disinfected.

He turns his head slightly. Eyes catch the mug tree beside the microwave.

And it hits him.

That dumb mug. The one with the cartoon possum and the words “I hate mornings” in all caps. The one he’d shoved into your hands after a shitty hunt in Tulsa, saying “figured this was your vibe.”

The one you used to drink out of every morning, tucked into his chest, humming along to ELO on the shitty kitchen speaker.

Gone. Not broken. Not misplaced. Removed.

Like it never mattered.

You return, setting a steaming mug on the coffee table in front of him. Not in his hands. Not with a smile.

Just… placed. Offered.

“Still take it black?”

Dean nods, voice lost in his throat.

You sit again. Quiet. Perfect posture. One leg tucked beneath you, your fingers curled loosely around your own mug. You don’t ask him why he’s here. You don’t need to.

You’ve always been good at waiting people out.

He takes a breath.

“I didn’t know how to talk to anyone. After Cas. After—everything.”

You don’t blink. You don’t shift.

“You stopped talking to me long before that.”

He flinches.

Because it’s true. Because you said it like it was just another fact, not a wound.

The rain still whispers against the windowpane. The candle on the sill flickers.

Dean swallows hard and stares at the steam curling from the mug like it might spell something useful.

“You look better. Without me.”

You look at him then.

Not soft. Not smug. Just… calm, and whisper: “I am.”

And it guts him.

Worse than purgatory. Worse than hell.

Because you didn’t say it to be cruel. You said it like you’d finally accepted the truth. Like he was a fever you’d sweat out, and now you were clean.

He lowers himself onto the couch, slowly, like he might break the furniture just by existing near it.

His voice is barely a breath.

“Can I sit?”

You shrug. Take a sip.

“You can sit. Doesn’t mean you get to stay.”

Dean shifts on the edge of the couch like it might bite him. He hasn’t touched the coffee. He won’t. Not yet.

Your fingers are curled around your mug, steam softening the line of your jaw, but your mouth is a straight, unreadable thing.

He stares at you. Like maybe if he memorises you again, it’ll turn back time.

He opens his mouth.

“I miss yo—”

You don’t even blink.

“Don’t.”

He flinches like he’s been slapped.

You look at him then, eyes steady and hollowed out, voice quiet and bone-sharp.

“I don’t want to hear you lie anymore. You don’t get to miss me, Dean. Not after the way things went down.”

He tries again. Stammers. Fingers twitching on his knees like maybe if he moves, this won’t feel so final.

“I—I didn’t mean for it to go like that. I was just—I lost Cas, and then I lost myself, and—”

“And you lost me.” You say it so simply it makes his throat tighten. “And you didn’t come looking. Not really.”

He opens his mouth again but nothing comes out.

You sigh—long, soft, like a teacher tired of hearing excuses from the same failing student.

“I went through all five stages after you left. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Over and over. Like clockwork. For months.”

You set your mug down. Look him straight in the eyes.

“And then I stopped.”

Dean swallows. His whole chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself. You’re too calm. Too composed. Too healed.

“I stopped because I realised I really did deserve better.”

He shakes his head. Not because he disagrees, but because he’s spiralling.

“I’m sorry. I—I didn’t know how to fix it, I didn’t know how to say it—”

You cut him off again, but softer this time. No venom. Just truth.

“I mourned you, Dean. I mourned us. What we were. What we could’ve been.”

You pause. Let the silence stretch.

“And I mourned me. The version of me that thought love meant waiting for someone who wouldn’t show up.”

He’s reeling now. Because the words aren’t cruel. They’re not even angry. They’re just… final.

And that’s what kills him.

That’s what cracks him open.

Because he’s desperate now. For the touch, for the warmth, for the version of you that used to curl into his side like he was a place to rest.

But she’s not here. And he’s realising he might’ve buried her with his silence.

Dean looks like he’s about to speak—twice—but stops himself both times. His hands twitch in his lap. His knee starts to bounce. He opens his mouth, shuts it again, scrubs a hand down his face like he can wipe the helplessness off.

“I—fuck, I didn’t come here to—I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“Then why did you come here?”

Your voice cuts clean through the static of his panic. You tilt your head, eyes sharp now, sharper than they’ve been all night. Something in you shifts—tired, maybe, or just done playing therapist to a man who only ever wanted you when you were slipping away.

“You need closure or something? You want me to pat your hand and tell you you’re still a good man?”

Dean’s mouth parts. He doesn’t speak.

“Is that it?”

You lean back into the couch like you’ve already decided this isn’t worth your energy. The dismissal burns in his chest.

“If that’s what you came for… fine. I’ll give you closure.”

Your voice is steel beneath silk.

“But then you leave. And you leave me the hell alone.”

Dean shifts forward like something’s pulled his whole body toward you.

“No—no, I didn’t come here for that, I—I didn’t know what else to do. I—I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I know that doesn’t fix shit, but I’m here. I need—Jesus, I need you, I—”

You sigh, sharp and frustrated.

And Dean—God help him—lights up inside at the sound. Not because you’re forgiving him. Not because you’re softening. But because finally, finally, you’re reacting.

“Thank Christ,” he breathes, almost a whisper. “I thought—fuck, I thought I lost even that.”

You look at him like you might laugh. Like you might cry. You don’t do either.

“You’re unbelievable.”

He lurches forward slightly on the couch. Closer. Knees almost touching yours now. There’s something different in the air between you—still heavy, still rotten—but now it’s crackling too. Charged.

You lean in a little. Not much. Just enough that he notices.

“What is it you want from me, Dean? You want me to scream? You want me to throw something?”

Your voice is low now. Measured. Tired and electric all at once.

“You want me to feel something again for you?”

His throat bobs as he swallows.

“I want you to look at me like you used to. I want you to touch me like I’m still worth something.”

Silence.

The kind that aches.

And then—

You reach forward slowly, place your mug on the table. Dean’s breath catches. You turn back to him.

“If you want closure… you can have it.”

The words sit between you like an open door.

And Dean’s already halfway through it.

He doesn’t move at first. Just stares at you like he’s waiting for your approval. But you don’t give it. You just lean back on the couch—spine against the cushions, legs slightly parted, watching him with the kind of cool disinterest that should have gutted him.

Instead, it makes his cock twitch.

He swallows again. His throat is dry. Everything else is wet.

“You said… closure.”

Your fingers trail lazily along the inside of your thigh, not even touching the hem of the long shirt you’re wearing. Just resting there. Like he’s not worth the effort of anticipation.

Dean exhales, shaky. Then his hands move to the fly of his jeans, slow and fumbling. The fabric clings to him, soaked through, and he has to peel it down—dragging wet denim down his thighs like it’s a punishment.

His boxers follow. Dark and damp and clinging low on his hips. He’s already hard—of course he is.

He looks at you.

Still nothing.

No heat. No softness. Just cool appraisal, like you’re deciding whether or not to let him crawl closer.

“Please.”

It slips out without permission. He winces at it—but doesn’t take it back.

You raise an eyebrow, just slightly.

“Please what?”

Your voice is bored. Detached. But cutting.

Dean’s knees hit the floor.

The carpet scratches his skin. He doesn’t care. He’s kneeling in front of you now, cock flushed and twitching, hands flexing on your thighs but not daring to move further.

You still haven’t touched him.

“Please,” he whispers again. “Please let me… just let me—”

Your head tilts. Like you’re studying something pathetic. A little sad. A little entertaining.

“Let you what, Dean?”

He groans. A sound from deep in his chest—frustrated, humiliated, needy.

“Let me taste you. Let me feel you again. Just once.”

You don’t smile.

“You’re dripping all over my carpet.”

That should’ve shamed him. Instead, he moans. Low. Breathless. Eyes fluttering closed for a second like even that insult feeds him.

“Fuck—fuck, I know. I’m sorry. I’ll clean it, I’ll do whatever you want, just—”

Your hand tangles in his damp hair, finally. Fingers gripping the roots, tilting his head back so he’s forced to look up at you.

Your eyes are cold. Detached. Like he’s a stranger in your home.

“You’re not here because I love you,” you murmur. “You’re here because I’m kind.”

Dean swallows a whimper.

“I know. I know. Just—please. I need you. I need this.”

You release his hair and lean back again, spreading your legs just enough that he gets the message.

And he moves—mouth already open, eyes glazed with gratitude and something feral.

He dives between your thighs like a man starved.

And above him, you don’t moan. You don’t whisper his name. You just lie there, gaze distant, chest rising slowly, as if none of this really matters anymore.

Dean eats you like it’s the last thing that will ever make him feel whole again. And maybe it is.

Your fingers thread through his hair again—but not like before. Not to guide. Not to praise. Just to push him back.

“Might as well stop.”

Your voice slices clean through the haze. Dean pulls back from between your thighs, lips swollen, chin slick, pupils blown wide. He blinks up at you like he’s just been slapped.

“What?”

“You’re not gonna make me come like this anymore.”

You stretch out lazily, like this is all beneath you. Like he’s beneath you.

“You aren't getting me off.”

Dean looks like he’s reeling. Like you’ve just kicked the air out of his lungs. His hands shake as they grip your thighs.

“Why—Why do you hate me?”

His voice cracks in the middle, breaking like bone.

He drags you down the couch in a single, desperate pull—your ass sliding to the edge, your legs open around him like muscle memory.

But you don’t flinch. You don’t reach for him. You look down at him with steady, surgical detachment.

“I don’t hate you, Dean.”

He freezes.

His chest stills. His eyes search yours. Something flutters in them—hope. Fragile and stupid.

Until you keep going.

“To hate someone, you have to feel something for them.”

You tilt your head.

“And I don’t feel anything for you anymore.”

He makes a sound—not a groan, not a growl—something small. Wounded. Like something inside him is caving in.

Then he presses forward. Drags himself through your folds like he’s begging for forgiveness with his body.

You don’t sigh. You don’t gasp. You just watch him.

And then—

He shoves inside you.

A single, desperate thrust. Full. Deep. Like it’s penance. Dean’s whole body shudders. His head drops forward against your chest. He’s panting. Hard. Like every breath is a plea.

“Fuck. Fuck—please—”

You say nothing.

You let him fuck into you like he’s trying to remember how it used to feel when you wanted him. You don’t move. Don’t cling. Don’t kiss. And he whimpers against your skin.

He’s never felt so close to breaking.

Dean’s fucking into you like a prayer gone unanswered. Desperate. Messy. Panting like he’s running out of time and maybe he is, maybe he already has. His hands are bruising your hips, but you barely flinch.

Your eyes are half-lidded, glazed with disinterest. He’s rutting like a man possessed, and you’re just lying there—head back, lips parted, gaze fixed on some invisible point on the ceiling. Not him. Never him.

“You think you can fuck your way to absolution,” you murmur. “Like I’ll forgive everything just because you’re on your knees now.”

Dean whimpers. A real one. From the throat, cracked and choked.

“I didn’t mean to—I never wanted to hurt you, I just—”

You cut him off with a sharp breath through your nose.

“You didn’t mean to lie to me? Didn’t mean to disappear when I needed you the most? Didn’t mean to make me feel small, like I was some extra weight you didn’t ask to carry?”

His thrusts falter. Sloppier now. Like your words are striking bone.

“You left me to drown in that silence. You left me to claw my way out of the wreckage alone.”

He moans like he’s being stabbed. Like he wants to argue, but his hips won’t stop moving—won’t stop confessing for him.

And then you say it.

Cold. Clinical. A scalpel dragged across the throat of everything you used to be:

“Wow.”

You meet his eyes.

“This used to feel so much better when I loved you.”

He freezes.

Mid-thrust. Mid-breath. His body stills completely, cock buried deep inside you, shaking. His mouth parts like he wants to say your name but doesn’t dare.

You stare down at him.

Still. Unbothered. Like you didn’t just reach into his chest and rip his heart out bare-handed.

His eyes shimmer. His jaw works. He’s not moving anymore—just trembling, thick and aching inside you, trying to hold on to a version of you that doesn’t exist anymore.

You don’t kiss him. You don’t comfort him. You just sigh.

“Finish if you’re gonna finish, Dean. I’m tired.”

And that’s what breaks him. Because you’re not angry. You’re over it. And he never will be.

He starts moving again.

Hesitant at first—like he’s afraid you’ll stop him. Or worse, won’t. The thrusts come slow, then desperate, then frantic. His fingers dig into your hips. His forehead presses against your shoulder.

You still don’t move. Still don’t moan. Still don’t give him anything.

And that’s what makes him fucking lose it.

“Please,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “Please, baby, I—I need you to…”

He trails off because he doesn’t even know what he needs. A sound. A sigh. A twitch of your hand in his hair. Anything.

But you just stare past him like he’s a dream you woke from years ago.

“Fuck—talk to me—say something, anything, I can’t—”

His voice catches. He thrusts harder. Pathetically hard. His whole body shudders with effort. He’s panting like a dog in heat, chasing a ghost of who you used to be.

“I’ll be better—just let me—please, let me make you feel something—”

Nothing.

You’re just a warm, wet grave he’s digging into, begging for resurrection. And there’s no miracle coming.

“I love you,” he gasps. “God, I love you, I love you—”

He’s trembling now, losing rhythm, hips stuttering—

You blink slowly, as if the weight of those words is no heavier than a breeze.

He chokes out a sob and pulls out at the last second, fisting himself hard and fast with one shaky hand, mouth slack as his whole body jerks—

He spills across your mound with a broken moan, spend hot between your bodies, dripping down your skin as his hand goes slack.

He starts to collapse forward, but you shift slightly, sitting up on your elbows.

And he—fucking desperate—wraps his arms around you from the awkward angle, smushing himself against you, face buried in your chest, breathing hard.

His cum smears between you both, sticky and hot and miserable. He doesn’t care. He just holds on.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles into your skin. “Just—just a little while longer, let me hold you.”

You sigh. Not emotional. Not annoyed. Just… done. You rest your hands on his shoulders—flat, impersonal—and then you push.

He lets you.

You sit up, slide out from beneath him, the wet drag of him pulling away leaving a ghost behind.

You stand, bare but untouchable, and turn to face him where he still kneels.His face is flushed. Eyes red. Chest heaving.

You don’t pity him.

“Dean,” you say softly.

He looks up like he’s ready to say I’m sorry again. Like he’s ready to beg.

You don’t let him.

“You need to get out of my apartment now.”

His mouth opens.

“Leave me the hell alone.”

He flinches.

“For good.”

The words hit like bullets. Final. Precise. You don’t say them with cruelty. You say them like you’re taking out the trash. Because that’s all that’s left of this.

He stares up at you. Still hard. Still dripping. Still hoping.

But your eyes are empty. And this time, he knows you mean it.

He stands slowly. Pulls his pants back up. Doesn’t bother with his wet jacket. And when he walks to the door, you don’t follow. You don’t say goodbye.

You just wipe yourself clean, light a candle, and turn the page.

author note/s: hey everybody, so instead of forcing myself to finish editing and posting the next part of "cruel summer", i decided to work through some of my current trauma by writing this utterly devastating and depressing piece. i don't know. i just need it at the moment. it's the first time in weeks i've felt motivated to write and i'm angry as fuck at my ex and i needed a way to vent. so here it is. i know dean's being pathetic in this one, like even for sub!dean but i'm living vicariously through this so shh please. let me know what y'all think. i love all of you, so much. all the love.

dean taglist: @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @bruisedfig @angelicjackles @soldiersgirl @tinas111 @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @drakulana @mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @liiiilsss @0ccvltism @itshellfire @sl33pylilbunny @nevercameraready @paristheonewhoreads @podiumackles @suckitands33 @lyarr24 @spxideyver @winchestersbgirl @mj-102009 @kaz-2y5-spn @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @ladykitana90 @deangirlsstuff67 <3

because dean didn’t love, not really. he never yearned for someone the way a man in love should. not until you.

he lived for these moments with you, where the shit world he fights against every day is still and kind for once. where he’s shirtless in bed, holding you like he’d fall through the mattress if he didn’t anchor himself to you.

your low cut tank top gave dean a wide view of one of his very few sanctuaries... your tits.

he leans forward to place a small kiss on your chest before tilting his head back to look at you with those hypnotizing green eyes, his hands rubbing your sides to eventually stop at your hips and giving them a light squeeze.

you exhale, lightly rubbing his biceps as you lean back against the headboard. “baby, i haveta.. eat.. soon.” you murmur, gently reminding him of your nature. you’ve always hated bringing it up, having to admit the hunger that stirred beneath your flesh.

he frowns with a sigh, placing another kiss on your chest and nuzzling his head between your breasts like a petulant child, rubbing his nose against the soft skin before looking up at you again with an alluring glance that made your unbeating heart tug.

“jus stay for a few more minutes.” dean grumbles, letting his lower lip fall in a tiny pout as he blinks up at you, his chin still squished between your boobs.

you giggle, petting his hair and bringing up a finger to trace over his pouting lips. “i didn’t say right this second. just soon, kay?”

a soft whine escapes him as the pad of your finger lightly brushes against his lips, like just the small touch from you had blessed him. the large hands resting on your hips slide down underneath your loose shirt, now roaming over your bare skin.

he shamelessly takes your finger between his plump pink lips as you eye him with a soft smile, a little noise of content falling out of you. he sucks and gently nips on it, his eyes never pulling away from yours. you know, like a whore.

you adore when he's like this, all soft and subby. you coo, your free hand still playing with his hair as he swirls his pink tongue around your digit.

he softly whimpers as he reluctantly slips your finger out of his mouth before smooching a gentle kiss on the pad of it. his hands are now soothingly rubbing your back underneath your shirt, his lips trailing down to scatter soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

one of his legs suddenly slip between yours, knee brushing against your core before cooing at your surprised squeak at the contact, your hips automatically jerking at the friction.

“okay,” you rasp, nodding your head in attempt to recollect yourself with a hard swallow. “i said soon as in.. only a few minutes, baby.”

he simply hums before leaning forward and stupidly taking the skin on your jaw between his teeth.

hunger crawls up your throat without warning, blooming hot and desperate. you can smell him more now from this angle— sweat and blood, and god, his awaiting throat is right there.

and he just purrs like he knows how it’s affecting you, the noise vibrating against your skin.

“dean.” you warn sharply, fighting the necessity to indulge in your needs. you resist the urge to sink your fangs into him 24/7, and it's even worse at times like these when he’s all over you.

“i'm hungry, be careful.”

he simply hums again as he places a kiss on your jaw before moving down until his lips press gently against your pulse point, his teeth nipping on the sensitive skin of your throat, almost as if to tease you.

“you’ve already taken my blood before.” he points out with a small grunt, burying his nose into your neck.

you wince at the memory. it was in an empty ghost town where your stash had been destroyed, and you thought your life was over. you’d resisted for hours until you just couldn’t anymore. then dean had offered his wrist with a smile and a “c’mon, sweetheart, you need to. please.”

you didn’t want to, but what other choice did you have? you’d been careful. gentle. he even said it didn’t hurt.

you whine, pulling him closer despite the logical part of your brain telling you otherwise. “that can never happen again, deany.” you murmur, lashes fluttering at his wet nips and pecks.

he huffs against your skin. “why the hell not? nothing happened, right?” he says matter of factly, his tone still soft as his fingers trace patterns over your back. he wants to be what you crave and he wants to be the one to give it to you. he needs to be needed.

“yeah, but,” you start with a pout. “i don’t ever wanna hurt you, honey.” you mumble, eyes following his mouth as he kisses and presses himself all over you like a needy little puppy.

eventually, he lifts his head to look at you again, a small pout of his own on his lips as he stares at you with a pleading expression. “what, you think m scared of you? you’re not gonna hurt me, sweet girl.” he notes with a shift, leaning up to press a soft kiss on your chin, and then your nose.

his knee was still pressed against your center, and he couldn’t help but tauntingly move it, just slightly, enjoying how much it seemed to rile you up.

“i can’t, baby, i can’t..!” you whine, eyes rolling back momentarily. you let out a breathy sigh, a lovesick smile sneaking out as he begins to pepper your face in kisses.

he chuckles, finding your whines and whimpers absolutely adorable. “why not?” he asks with a small coo, his hand petting over your puffed out cheek.

his other hand presses flat against your back, thumb rubbing circles over it as his nose gently rubs against yours. he knew that he was slowly but surely pushing you to give in, and he always plans on getting what he wants.

“because! if i start, i won’t stop— i can’t control it!” you’re quivering now, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded as he rocks his knee against you.

“sweetheart. please?” dean softly hums, his green eyes looking up at you with need. “just a little bite.. that's it.” he murmurs. there’s no hesitation in him. no fear. just a desperate, boyish need to be yours in every possible way.

he further presses his knee against your fabric covered cunt, urging you to grind against him. “fuck, c’mon. let me take care of you.” he exhales.

you let out a heavy breath, hips jerking with a small whimper until you shakily nod. “okay.. your wrist. n-not your neck..” you mumble, listening intently to the sound of his heartbeat.

he can’t hold back from letting out a deep, guttural groan at your confirmation. he brings his wrist up to your mouth, offering it like a gift with pride. “drink, baby...” he whispers huskily, his hand going to your hip to help you rock on him.

you breathily hiss at both the sensation and dean's eagerness to feed his girl, bringing a shiver to your spine. you snatch his wrist into your cold grip before pausing to listen to the flow of his blood, his eyes slightly widening.

“are you sure?” you whisper with closed eyes, hunger twisting low and sharp in your belly.

“yeah, positive.” he breathes, nodding rapidly as he stares at you with pure adoration.

with a flash of movement, you drag his wrist to your mouth, and your fangs sink in.

your nails dig into his forearm as the blood hits your tongue, rich and wild and oh so human. your head spins with the taste of him— it’s overwhelming, addicting, too much, but you drink like you're starved, a low involuntary growl rumbling out of your throat.

dean lets out a soft cry, his entire body pressing up against you. he can feel your nipples poking through your shirt, his forehead dropping to yours as he cradles the back of your head with his free hand.

“jesus christ,” he whispers, lips brushing your temple as his eyes squeeze shut with a grunt.

he bites down on his bottom lip, letting out an involuntary moan. he's never felt something so intense before, the feeling of your fangs inside his flesh, the feeling of you sucking on his skin, and all the little sounds you’re making. he groans as your body arches into him, his jeans somehow getting even tighter.

his body goes on autopilot, hips bucking against yours, desperately in search of more friction. his free hand pulls your shirt up enough for your boobs to bounce out, his tongue swiping over his lips as he stares down at them before glancing up at you again.

“you’re so hungry, aren't you..?” he murmurs, hand moving under the shirt to squeeze a handful of your tit as he plants kisses along your neck.

god, his blood is everything. thick and warm and utterly his, laced with all the things you crave most. his loyalty, his love, the deep desiring thrum of a man who would burn himself down if it meant keeping you full.

your supernaturally tight hold manages to grip harder around his wrist for another greedy mouthful, and you feel him sag into you, breath catching on a ragged sigh. but even still, there's no fear, no hesitation. just dean, wide eyed and adoring, like he’s grateful to be devoured.

and that’s what jolts you back.

you yank yourself away from his arm with a choked gasp, blood still wet on your lips, your heart pounding like it’s about to explode. your fingers loosen their death grip on his wrist as you try to catch your breath.

his hand moves from your breast to caress your cheek, whispering sweet words, only to be interrupted by your snarl. “clean it up before i suck you fucking dry.” you whimper, voice barely holding together.

the sight of dean's blood smeared on your lips and your darkened eyes causes him to let out another low moan. he blinks, drunk on the intimacy still coiling between you.

“fuck...” he whines quietly, his hand on your head still playing with your hair mindlessly. he can't help himself, you just look so cute and kissable in this moment. he leans in closer, fingers going under your chin to lift you up a little, wanting a taste of your bloody lips.

you exhale, eyes shutting as you shake your head and press a hand against his chest to stop him.

his gaze flicks down to his bloody wrist. he lifts it up to his mouth and begins to leisurely lick the blood away, his tongue leaving soft, slow drags on it.

you groan at the sloshy sound, eyes tightening further as you put your hand over your nose, the smell getting to you.

a slight smirk forms on his lips like he knew him swiping up his blood so lewdly would push your buttons. his tongue continues its slow, meticulous work before he mumbles, “m glad you like it. tastes kinda salty.”

one second he’s all teasing and smirking, and the next you’re on him, fangs out, fingers like iron shackles around his wrist as you drag it back to your mouth.

but even at that, which should scare him, even as a hunter, doesn't bother him in the slightest. he lets out a soft coo, his free hand slowly moving up to gently caress your cheek as you settle on top of him.

he doesn't even care that he might provoke you in this state when he murmurs, “so fuckin pretty, honey,” like he’s delighted.

you hover just above the open wound on his wrist, trembling with your mouth parted and full of blood you still haven’t downed. your eyes flash, dark and feral and a little wild— and he just keeps staring like he’s witnessing something holy. like you’re absolutely fucking divine.

his blood lingers on your tongue, warm and metallic. and despite your bloodthirsty disposition, you’re really not seconds away from losing it and all hell breaking loose like you assumed. you know it.

and dean does too. your stupid, gorgeous dean, presses a kiss to your bottom lip, messy with red liquid.

he slowly pulls his wrist away from your grip, but he doesn’t move far. his palm stays cupped against your cheek, grounding you, like he wants to be tasted.

“you good, buffy?” he grins, soft and teasing with his eyes locked on your face, searching for any signs that you might still be hungry.

“mhmm,” you hum, pecking his thumb with a small smile. you shift in his lap, adjusting your weight until you’re draped over him, tucked into the warmth of his body.

“yknow,” he starts, voice low. he peers down at the blood smeared on his wrist, lips parting with an aroused exhale. he clears his throat before turning back to you, still brushing your face. “you can take it whenever you need to, baby.”

you smile softly at the words, shaking your head. you wouldn't do that to him. “thank you, but-”

“no, i'm serious.” dean cuts you off sharply, voice desperate, and eyes intensely staring into yours like a promise. “don't fight it. swear to god i'll give you everything- don't haveta eat from anyone else ever again.”

you swallow, lashes fluttering as you blink profusely. you shakily breathe, and you find yourself nodding, eyes darting back to the blood seeping out of his wound. you can feel your meal sliding down the back of your tongue, thick and warm.

“please, baby, please,” he whispers huskily, his hands roaming down to grip the globes of your ass. “wanna be your everything. please.”

your hand shoots up, fingers curling around his throat, and you shove him back into the headboard— not hard, but needing. his heart's racing as he stares straight at your perfect fangs baring out to him.

and god, he loves it. he loves you. the soft, sweet side you show the world and the raw creature underneath. the monster with blood on her lips and love etched into her bones.

dean groans out your name, wanting you to take everything he has to give. he looks at you with a desperate look in his eyes. you need me, it screams.

his fingers tighten around your thighs, nails digging in. there’s a tremble in his jaw he doesn’t even try to hide. he should feel pathetic, he thinks, being this far gone over you. but he feels chosen. he wants to be consumed. in fact, he wants to cry from how much he wants you, how much he wants you to bite him, and take everything he has to give.

you growl, a sound you don’t even mean to make, and the way dean reacts is almost embarrassing. he shudders underneath you, hips twitching slightly, eyes rolling back.

your bottom lip juts out into a small pout as you squeeze his throat tighter, eliciting a small whine from him.

you shove your lips onto his, licking and sucking feverishly. he immediately kisses you back, returning your lust driven bites with needy twirls of his tongue around yours. it's gross, spit drooling down your chin with your mouth moving in the most uncoordinated motions, but neither of you care. if anything, that's what makes it so good.

your hand around his throat squeezes, and you can feel his pulse hammering against your palm. his heart’s beating like it’s trying to climb out of his chest. he pants your name against your mouth like a prayer, almost dizzy with how much he wants you.

you pull away with heavy breaths, lips bitten and soaked wet with his saliva. he groans, tilting his neck closer to you, his hand gripping your wrist to pull it away. you moan loudly, staring at the skin with eager need.

he breathes, “take me”, and you’re gone for the second time tonight.

you surge forward, fangs sinking into his throat. his blood pours over your tongue once more, thick and alive. your body jolts like it’s been electrocuted as you moan against his skin.

dean cries out, a raw, broken shout as his eyes squeeze shut. his hips buck under you and his entire body arches up into yours.

he’s completely at your mercy, letting you take whatever you need, just as long as he can get that delicious feeling of you biting him, and the crazy pleasure he gets from being your source of nourishment.

his love floods your senses, overtaking every thought. you weren’t starving before, but nothing has ever felt so good as this. as his blood, your dean.

his eyes are heavy lidded and glassy, pupils blown wide as he feels himself being drained. there’s a tear slipping from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t even feel it, too busy whispering your name like it’s the only word he remembers.

“fuck,” he chokes, voice wrecked and boyish. “you’re gonna kill me— oh god, baby—”

you pull back a little, just enough to lick some seeped blood from his neck. your lips are stained crimson, eyes still half feral, and he's fighting to not completely sob at the sight.

you kiss his pulse point, slow and wet. “you're not gonna die, sweet boy.”

“i love you.” he blurts, like the words are punched out of him. he groans, squeezing the fabric of your shirt as he rolls his hips up. “oh, i love you. drain me, fuck me, take me— fuck, please!”

you moan loudly, right in his face as you grip it, holding him like he’s fragile. and he is. he’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted so badly.

he can barely even think straight, his thoughts spinning with need and desire. he wants to be the only one you ever need. he groans, eyes rolling back and his hips bucking against yours mindlessly, seeking any sort of friction.

you let out a large exhale, practically shoving your hand to the front of his jeans, tugging down the zipper with little struggle and much need. his eyebrows are pinched tight, lips parted as he yanks his pants down, kicking them off his feet.

he snatches your tiny top into his large hands, pulling it up and over your head before leaning forward to kiss you again, tongue exploring every crevice of your mouth while you slide down your panties with quiet mewling sounds.

he immediately slips two fingers past your entrance, earning a moan from you while his other hand grips the side of your face, keeping your mouth on his. he skillfully slips his digits out before shoving them right back in, over and over again.

you bite his lips, more blood drawing from the stab of your fangs.

he groans, eyes rolling back before pounding his fingers harder into you, the spongy spot of your cunt massaging against them.

you cry out his name as you reach your high, his fingers dripping like water with arousal. he whines, staring down at them. he quickly takes them into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the skin like a man starved. you tug down his boxers, mindlessly throwing them across the room.

he smiles gently, pulling his fingers out with a small pop before flipping you to lay on your back. he bends down, leaving wet kisses along your neck and boobs as you whine with need. “i know, honey.” he coos a little shakily as he starts to drag his tip up and down your folds.

you gasp at the stretch as he slides further into you, eyes squeezing shut at the tight fit. you’re babbling like a fool in love, hands gripping his hair with a death grip. once his dick is fully inside, he pauses, waiting for the go as he murmurs words of praise into your neck.

“please, move, please..!” you plead, tugging his hair to pull him away from your skin, latching onto him as you suck on his bottom lip with a little buck of your hips.

dean moans, sticking his tongue out automatically as he starts to rock into you, thrusting at a steady pace filled with tender care despite the blood still dripping from his wounds.

a hand squeezes your nipple, twisting it between his fingers as your legs wrap around his waist. he shakes his head, using his free hand to pull under your thigh and lift a leg onto his shoulder. you cry out as he starts to hit deeper inside you at the angle, arching your chest into his.

your walls clench around him, girthy cock hitting all the right places. his balls slap against your ass as he slams into you, the lewd sound echoing throughout your apartment. his fingers slither down to your sensitive little clit, starting up small circles against it as you mewl.

it feels like he's staring into your soul as he rubs all over your clit, letting out soft whines at your wanton expression.

you’re frantically babbling, hand still tugging his hair. “g-good boy, dean, mmph..! it's so good, s-so s'good...”

your fingers swipe through the aching crimson mark on his throat, earning a mix of a grunt and moan from him as you kitten-lick your stained digits. he desperately thrusts into you, leaning forward with his tongue sticking out to copy your movement, tasting himself on your skin. it's almost creepy the way you both get off to it. your tongues brush against each other as you keep licking from your fingers, and it's enough to get you close to your release.

he notices, of course, and rapidly speeds up his fingers below, moaning your name as he pinches your puffy nub. you squeal, head tilting back as your hips jerk into his hand.

“shit, sweetheart.” he whines, releasing his grip on your nipple to spread kisses against your other tit, tongue lathering saliva as he spits down on the perky bud. “my sweet girl, fuck, i love you!”

your pussy squeezes around him like a vice as you finish. you both feel like you’ve been doused in a mind numbing drug as you cum at the same time. his jaw drops, red stained lips locked apart and eyes shut as he shoots his cum into you. he kisses your thigh on his sweaty shoulder, your cunt twitching as he lays your leg back down on the bed.

he lets out loud whimpers, cock still inside you as he feels your mix of releases seeping out of your pussy.

you open your eyes, cooing immediately at the sight of his dazed eyes, his head probably still fuzzy from the blood loss. he notices your glance and brings a hand to his neck, wincing as he touches the puncture marks left by your fangs.

he smiles sweetly. he can't help but be filled with joy from you taking his blood and seed.

god, he can barely string words together, barely even remember how to speak at all— but manages to let out one little word.

“more..” he whispers, voice barely even audible, as his hands grip your hips again.

you whine softly, shaking your head as your hands reach for his face. “no more, baby.” you exhale, still panting heavily. “mm, did so good, sweet boy..”

he sighs in defeat, but nods nonetheless. he's tired as fuck, and he did good, he pleased you. that’s all that matters.

you tiredly lean over to the nightstand, pulling out a tissue from the box before putting it against his neck. the pressure causes a slight sting, but he doesn’t mind. he loves the feeling.

his eyes flutter close as he listens to your sweet nothings, feeling a sense of delight washing over him. not wanting to lose contact with you, he grabs your hand, bringing it up to press a kiss on your knuckles. his grip's a little weak as he tugs you closer, laying down on your body.

both of you slightly wince at the aftershocks. you lean closer to give him a peck as you pull him onto you, hands threading through his hair.

he looks up at you with glassy eyes as you lazily suck on his lip, his body relaxing even more. his hand goes up to gently brush some hair away from your face before shutting his eyes. “we should clean up..” he murmurs lightly, tone all soft and sugary, and a little slurred from his fatigue.

“i'll do it.” you coo, pressing a final kiss against his mouth. he hums in content, turning his head sideways so his cheek squishes against your chest as sleep takes over him after one more declaration of love from his lips.

so, yeah. that sick, endless love dean winchester has always quietly craved is here in the grasp of a vampire. and good luck to any fucker who tried to separate them.

꒰ 𑄽𑄺 ⠀you have a new message from dolly!

sorry for any mistakes !!! this has been sitting in my drafts so i kinda just wanted to get it out 😓 i love crazies mwah lowk inspired by this bot !!

taglist: @multiversefanfics @misticsilver

you desperately held back your own moans, just so that you could hear dean’s pretty whimpers as you rode him into the sun.

his big hands scrambling for purchase, touching you anywhere he could reach; your hips, your ass, your thighs, your breasts.

but you couldn’t hold back anymore as he surged forward, sucking one of your hard nipples into his mouth. it always made your brain go fuzzy, turned you into just as much of a mess as he was.

an idea sparked as your fingers threaded through his short locks. where you would normally grip on and shove him harder into your chest, this time you pulled him away, looking down at him with dark, heavy lidded eyes as a smirk pulled at your lips.

“mommy, please, let me-“ dean began begging, but you cut him off. “i wanna try somethin’ new,” you said, slowing down in your movements. “that okay?”

he just nodded in response, like an eager little puppy, so desperate to please.

you fully stilled your hips, slowly rising off his dick with a groan and letting it slip out of your sloppy cunt. his whines of protest filled your ears.

“shhh, s’okay, puppy.” you cooed softly, “‘m gonna make you feel so good. can you lay back f’me?” he immediately obliged, shifting slightly to lay comfortably against the pillows.

you moved once he was in position, one knee going between his legs while the other stayed beside his hip, leaning down and pressing soft, wet kisses up his tummy, to his chest, his neck, before going back down, all the while he was squirming underneath you.

“stay still, pup.” you command gently, warm breath fanning over his slick skin as your lips moved across his chest, stopping at one of his nipples.

you glanced up at him through your lashes, a grinch-like smirk gracing your face before you stuck your tongue out, and began laving at his pink, puffy nipple, watching his reaction; the way his eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth fell open — it told you all you needed to know.

dean was enjoying this.

you licked rougher, more insistently, nipping gently at the sensitive flesh and sucking it onto your mouth, listening to him gasp and whimper.

his pleasure had always been your pleasure, so hearing and seeing how he reacted to what you were doing made your stomach flutter.

you sucked harder, hips dropped down on top of his thigh as you moaned around his skin, grinding against him without even realizing it. this was just too good. you couldn’t get enough.

“mommy,” dean whined, one of his hands finding its way into your hair and grasping at the long locks. you simply moaned back in response, your eyes fluttered shut as you got lost in all the different sensations, rubbing your wet folds all over his plush thigh and making a mess.

soon you moved over, giving the same attention to the other nipple. and dean was absolutely losing his mind — head thrown back, eyes rolled to the back of his head, back arching slightly.

one of your hands drifted down between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his still hard cock and beginning to slowly jerk him off, feeling him twitch in your hand as his body shuddered.

“wanna make you feel good, too.” you heard him murmur, and seconds later his hands were gripping tightly onto your hips, lifting them up off his thigh before slipping two thick fingers between your soaking folds.

your head lolled to the side, mouth coming off his chest as you let out a loud moan, hips twitching into his hand as he pressed down on your swollen clit, making fast circles. that made your hand move quicker on him in return.

“pretty boy,” you crooned, “feels s’good — you always make mommy feel so good. my good boy, perfect little puppy.” you babbled on in praises that you knew were sure to get him to release faster, still making it a point to take care of him, prioritizing his pleasure.

you went on and on that way, kissing, nipping and sucking at every piece of skin you could reach, murmuring soft praises in his ears, and moving your hand swiftly over his cock until you felt it start to twitch and pulse more persistently against your soft palm.

“you gonna cum, pup?”

“yeah,” dean whimpered, his hips canting up, chasing down his orgasm.

“c’mon, cum for mommy — all over my hand like a good boy.” you murmured against his stubbled jaw, pressing kiss after kiss to his skin. “cum for me, puppy.”

that really did him in. hips stuttering and his body tensing up, eyes fluttering and face scrunched up in bliss, back arching as he let out a loud, whiny groan, thick ropes of sticky white shooting out from the tip and dripping onto your hand, getting all over his tummy, and a bit on yours.

and his undoing was your own. shifting your position so that you were straddling him fully again, slotting his sloppy dick through your slick folds and grinding into him, creating the most sinful sounds. your clit bumped against his tip over and over again, breathy moans spilling out of your parted lips, going after your own high.

dean let out another loud whine, “i know. i know, pup.” it was clear he was becoming overstimulated. “jus’ a lil’ bit more. you want mommy’s cum, too, don’t you?” seeing him nod eagerly through your bleary gaze, and whine again.

a huffy groan of frustration left you, lifting your hips and lining him back up with your entrance, quickly skinning down and bouncing at a rough pace. planting one hand behind you and arching back as you moved, your other fingers found your clit and rubbed in tight circles, that familiar heat making itself known, low in your belly.

your own orgasm crashed over you faster than anticipated, body going rigid while that coil snapped, your walls clenching, before you gushed around dean, a loud, gasping moan tearing out of your throat.

it was always pure ecstasy with him.

falling into his chest once you finish, dean wrapped his strong arms around your waist, hugging you tightly to him as he pressed a kiss to your hairline, while you kissed all over his cheek, the corner of his eye, his temple.

“you did so good.” you praised softly against his skin, wrapping your own arms around him, nose nuzzling the side of his head. his hands ran slowly up and down your back, laying there silently in the aftermath for a moment.

“so, we found out two things today…” he mused, voice raspy from all the noise he’d been making.

a confused hum came from you in response.

“you, like sucking nipples…and i, like having my nipples sucked — apparently.” he said in a slightly sardonic, teasing tone, sending you into a fit of giggles.

my first actual fic in A MILLION YEARS.. hEllOOO😧🔥

also my first time myself writing like FULLLLL smut.. SO PLEASEEEEE don’t crucify me if it’s really bad like AT LEASTTT I TRIEDD😭